Pretending
by imbloodycrowley
Summary: This story is a one shot, and CONTAINS STRONG, STRONG THEMES OF CORPORAL PUNISHMENT. If this upsets you, please do not read. Sammy is sort of OOC in this, but I needed him to be for this story. Sammy tries to get Dean's attention by punishing him, but it gets out of hand. No slash.
**STRONG THEMES OF CORPORAL PUNISHMENT! Please do not read/review if this offends! This is a one shot, completely unrelated to any of my other stories. This is not wincest (none of my stories are, for any of those wondering.)**

Dean pointed towards a cave with the stick he carried, walking along the hiking trail ahead of his brother. "Think it could be in there?"

"Dunno, we can check." Said Sam, starting through the bushes and tree limbs towards the hole in the rocks.

The boys were hunting a wendigo, they assumed. Person after person had come to that particular hiking trail and disappeared, no traces whatsoever being found.

Just as Sam stepped into the cave, the creature jumped out in front of him. Sam was pulling out the blow torch, already starting it up before Dean practically hurled himself at the creature. Sam had just enough time to turn in order to avoid lighting Dean on fire, dropping his tool to the ground.

"Dean!" He snapped, right before the wendigo lunged for him. Sam was on the ground in a second, hitting the rocks with an audible **thud.**

"Dean!" He called again, this time more of a cry for help than a scolding tone. He lifted his head just in time to see his brother light the creature on fire, though he quickly turned his head to avoid the heat of the flame.

"Hey, you wanna talk about what the hell just happened back there?"

This wasn't the first time in recent cases that Dean had been so reckless. Every since Dad had died, he'd been throwing himself in the line of fire one hunt after the other, and _damn_ if it wasn't stressing Sam out.

"'Bout what?" Dean turned back towards his brother, absently messing with the collar of his suit.

"What were you thinking, Dean? You jumped right in front of me! I was about to light up that damn wendigo! I could have killed—"

"I'm fine." Dean cut his brother off. "Sammy, look at me. "I'm fine, alright? Chill out." 

"No." Sam stopped in his tracks, shaking his head. "No, not _alright._ You don't get to keep brushing this kind of stuff off, Dean, dammit!"

"What do you want me to say, Sammy?" Dean stopped as well, turning to face his brother. He was visibly frustrated. "I'm sorry, okay? It wont happen again."

Sam shook his head in silence, staring at his brother in thought. He had to get Dean's attention, or he knew his brother was going to get himself killed. He knew how Dad would've handled something like this. He would've belted Dean's back raw once they were back to the car. That was always how Dad solved problems with Dean, it seemed like. And it had gotten worse while Sam had been away at Stanford. Disobey, get beaten, repeat. It was almost like it was intentional at this point, though. Sam refused to be his father, but he knew what Dean needed. "Cut a switch."

That caught Dean's attention.

"Excuse me?"

"I said cut a switch. Over there." Sam gestured towards some trees. "Go. Use your knife."

"For what?" Dean had a pretty good idea of what it was for, but hell if he intended to let Sammy go through with that.

"I don't know how else to get your attention, Dean. You've been reckless on every hunt we've gone on since Dad died, and you're gonna get yourself killed if you don't stop!"

"And whipping me is gonna solve that problem?"

"I don't know what else to try, Dean! You wont listen to reason, so maybe I do need to beat it into you!" Sam didn't mean that, not at all. But if it was what Dean needed to hear, then it would be worth the guilt he felt now in the long run. "Now go cut a switch. I wont tell you again."

Dean's mouth shut, his teeth making an audible click as it did. He turned to go do as he was told, fishing in his pocket for his knife. Dean had always been good at obeying orders. It was automatic, now. He still wasn't completely set on going through with this whole thing, but cutting the switch wouldn't hurt him.

He turned after cutting down a narrow branch, using his knife to get off all the small leaves and twigs from it as he walked towards his brother, who had apparently found a picnic table off to the side of the trail he had decided would suffice.

Dean stopped once he got to Sam, awkwardly holding out the switch.

Sam took the narrow piece of branch, inspecting it and bending it, testing it for flexibility before deciding it would do. He turned to look at the table for a long moment before turning back to Dean. "Bend over it."

Dean nearly choked. "Excuse me?"

"Bend over it, Dean. I'm not gonna waste time arguing with you. You got yourself into this." As he spoke, Sam removed his 'FBI agent' uniform jacket and began rolling up his sleeves. "Dean, I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do."

Dean just stood there for a long moment, trying to comprehend what was happening. His brother was _actually_ serious. Well, if this would make Sammy feel better, so be it. He slipped off his own jacket, starting to undo the buttons on his shirt before Sam brought a hand up to stop his. "Dean, no. Dad—Dad beat your back enough over the years. "You—I—" Sam gestured towards the table again, trying and failing to find words.

"You— _ **oh**_. You're going to _spank_ me?" Dean let out a laugh at that. "Sam, I'm not some kid. I'm not gonna let you—" 

"You're not _letting_ me do anything, Dean. I'm telling you what we're doing, and you're going to listen. I promise you, this isn't gonna feel like some kid's spanking. I'm sick and tired of your recklessness, dammit. We're dealing with this, and we're dealing with it _now_."

Dean let out a huff, standing there for a long moment, sizing his brother up. Sam stood up a bit straighter, reminding Dean of the height difference. Reluctantly, he gave up, deciding Sam wasn't going to let this go. After glancing towards the trail, making sure no random hikers were about to pass by, he bent over the table, shifting uncomfortably. He propped himself up on his elbows, ready to just get this over with already in order to appease his brother. Maybe then Sam would get off his back.

Sam set the switch down next to his brother, taking in a breath, attempting to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do. He wasn't John, and he refused to be him, but he would give Dean what he needed. If he needed to be brought back down to earth, Sam would do that for him. Moving to where he decided he would have best aim, he placed a hand on his brother's back. "Dean, do we need to talk about this before I—"

"Just get it done, Sammy. If this is gonna shut you up and get you off my back, then so be it. Just hurry it up."

Sam gave Dean's ass a sharp smack with his hand at that, catching him offguard. He continued, deciding to give Dean what he was asking for. They could talk when his brother felt more like listening. Right now, apparently what he needed was something to draw his attention. Sam placed smack after smack, starting to work on the part of Dean's ass right where it met his thighs, knowing that was a more sensitive area.

After more than a few well-placed swats there, Dean cleared his throat, having to find his voice before letting out a hoarse laugh. "Alright, Sammy. Games up. I'm done. Now before some poor bastard stumbles upon this ungodly sight lets go." Dean was pushing himself up as he spoke, only to have Sam press down more forcefully on his back, keeping him in place. "We're done when I say we're done, Dean. You're going to learn from this, I'm going to make sure of it. And if someone happens to see us, so be it. Maybe you can explain to them what got you in this mess."

"You're a real bitch sometimes, Sammy. You know that?"

Sam quickly landed three particularly hard swats to the center of Dean's ass at that comment, causing his brother to lean into the table, making a grunting noise of discomfort.

"Dean, I'm done discussing this. We're done when I say so, and obviously, so far you're not even taking it seriously. So settle in."

Dean rose up on his toes at the next volley of smacks, biting his tongue to keep himself from cursing at his brother. As much as he hated to admit it—even to himself—this really _was_ starting to hurt, and he was getting a bit worried. He felt Sammy stop for a moment, and started to turn right before he felt the switch pressed against his rear. He shifted anxiously, jumping once or twice as Sam did a few placement taps, trying to find his aim.

"Dean," Sam said calmly. "Hey, calm down." He rubbed at his brother's back with one hand, though his full concentration was on where he was about to land the next hits.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth at the first lash with the switch, again rising up on his toes, though he quickly managed to settle himself back down. He couldn't help jerking forward slightly at each blow, managing to keep his noises in by pressing his lips together in a tight line, however. After stroke ten—or eleven—hell, he had lost count. He felt Sam's hand come off his back, and could hear his brother stepping back. Dean let out a breath of air he hadn't known he'd been holding, and started to stand up, muttering something about Sammy swinging like a girl.

"Hey, hold up, Dean. We're not finished. I need you to—" He gestured to Dean's slacks, again at a loss for words.

"You want me to take down my pants? Oh _hell_ no. Sammy, I'm about through with your games—" before Dean could finish, Sam had retrieved the switch and landed two quick strikes to Dean's thighs, gaining a surprised yelp from his unsuspecting brother. "I _said_ we're doing this my way, Dean. I don't care if you _like_ my ideas or not. Do as I say, and we'll be done quicker."

Dean licked at his lips, all traces of amusement gone from his face. He looked more annoyed and pissed off, now. Never dropping his gaze from Sam's, he let lose his belt and slid down his pants, setting his jaw. "Happy, you pervert?"

"Bend back over, Dean."

Dean cleared his throat, doing as Sam requested with as much dignity as he could, propping himself up on his elbows once again.

Sam hated the quiet noise he heard Dean make when he rested the switch against his brother's behind once again. He hated doing this at all, he _hated_ it. But he knew he _had_ to get his brother's attention. He couldn't risk losing him. Sam brought the switch back, making a point to bring it down quickly, one time after another. He tried not to see the way Dean jumped, starting to try and move to avoid the blows. He continued on for a good six or seven painful lashes that way before stopping himself, allowing Dean to catch his breath.

Dean's breath was catching, coming in short, quiet gasps. He did his best to slip out from under Sam's hand that held him down, trying to keep his composure.

Sam bit down on his tongue, steeling himself before what he did next. He brought the switch down once on the undercurve of Dean's ass before laying it across his thighs, striking there four times, each in a new spot.

Dean was rising up on his toes once again, squirming under his brother's hold, making quiet, pitiful noises. This wasn't funny anymore. It hurt like a bitch, and he was ready to be done. He all but collapsed against the table when Sam stopped, giving him another short break. He lay there for a long moment, panting, before he tried to speak. "Sammy." He rasped, coughing to clear his throat. "Hey, Sammy." He panted. "I'm sorry. I'm done, I'm through being so stupid and reckless. I'm sorry."

"I know. I know, big brother. We're getting close to done, okay? Ride this out for me. It's okay to cry, okay?"

Dean bit at his tongue at the next strike, a quiet noise of pain escaping the back of his throat. "Sammy.." He tried again, while he still had a little control over his voice.

Sam had to make himself pretend he didn't hear. He had to pretend this wasn't breaking his heart. He had, _had_ to. Had to finish this up. If he half-assed this, it would just come back to bite him in the ass in the long run.

Dean practically jumped off the table all of a sudden, reaching down quickly to try and find his pants as he heard a runner coming down the path. Sam only gave him a sharp smack across the thighs for that, continuing with a quick three to the center of his ass, gaining another quiet, pained cry from his brother. Sam also pretended not to notice the jogger slow almost to a stop as he looked at the two, his mouth open in shock.

Dean lowered his head to the table, resting it against his arms and turning it to the other side, avoiding the man's gaze. Sam only continued on, dropping the switch, however, in favor of his hand once more. He gave some more attention to the undercurve of Dean's ass, laying blow after blow there until Dean was practically crawling onto the table in order to try and avoid anymore.

The man had finally peeled his eyes away at some point, turning to go on his way, still in stunned silence.

Sam let out a breath after landing five or six more across the center of Dean's ass in quick succession, stepping back to catch his breath.

Dean laid there for a long minute or so, breathing heavily, wiping away a few stray tears before he started to stand once again, reaching for his pants, murmuring quiet 'I'm sorry's.

"Dean." Sam took his brother by the arm, guiding him back over the table. "Almost done, but not quite. Okay? You're doing so good."

Dean stayed where Sam put him, bent over the table, still breathing heavily.

Sam took a moment to compose himself, drawing in deep breaths and slowly letting them out, listening to his brother do the same. "Dean." He said, calmly. "You understand why I'm doing this, don't you?"

"I fucked up on a hunt. I get my ass beat." Dean panted.

No, _no_. That was the exact opposite of what all this was about.

"No, Dean. This is for me to get your attention, because nothing else seems to be working. You've got to deal with Dad's death, you've got to. You have to let go at some point. You can't just hold all that inside you. I know it hurts, Dean, dammit! It hurts me like hell and me and him—we were always butting heads! I can't _imagine_ what it feels like for you. You were _always_ with him, always! You can't keep up this reckless behavior. Do you think Dad would've wanted you to be risking your life like that? Huh?"

Dean stayed silent, shaking his head. He kept his face turned the other way, unable to face his brother. He swiped once again angrily at the silent tears that slipped down his face.

"I love you, Dean. I love you more than anything. I need to show you that. You're everything to me, and I can't let you keep on like this." Sam placed a hand back on his brother's back, making sure he could hold him there before he reached down, letting his own belt loose from the loops. Just as he had anticipated, Dean attempted quickly to get up at the noise, only to be held down by Sam's hand. "No, Dean. We're finishing this. I'm sorry, but we _have_ to." He folded his belt over before either of them could overthink it, resting it against Dean's boxers.

Dean moved at the feeling of the leather resting on his ass, ducking his head in order to bury it in the crook of his elbow, all but laying across the table at this point. Sam bit down hard on his tongue as he moved the belt, lining it up before bringing it back and letting it hit it's target.

Dean stomped his foot, unable to help himself. At the second and third lash, he was making pained noises, all but sliding down off the table.

"Dean.." Sam slipped an arm under his brother to hoist him up, pulling him further onto the table. "Let's get this overwith, come on. Get up here for me."

Dean did as he was told, pulling himself up further onto the table, straining his legs until Sam stopped tugging.

Sam went back around to the end of the table, patting Dean's ass with his hand, telling him to scoot up some more. If he could just get some quick, intense work done with his brother's sit spots, they would be done.

Once Dean was almost on top of the table, his legs stretched as far as he could manage, Sam placed the belt across his ass one last time, taking in a breath before laying into his brother, going over his sit spots over and over before moving down to his thighs, holding Dean down as his brother whimpered pitifully, writhing under Sam's hold.

Sam finally couldn't take it any longer when another jogger passed by, stopping to gape at the scene before slowly continuing on his way. He stopped, tossing the damned leather aside, starting to rub at Dean's back, shushing him.

Dean quieted down his pitiful whines and whimpers as quickly as he could manage, trying to get ahold of himself. He pushed up as soon as he got it together, ducking down to pull up his pants, grinding his teeth together as he slid them up, trying to still his shaking hands.

"Hey, hey." Sam murmured. "Dean." He put an arm around his brother, and Dean was immediately leaned up against him, sucking in short, soft breaths, pressing his face to his brother's shoulder, silently begging for some comfort.

"Shh, shh." Sam hushed him. "It's alright. It's all just fine." He rubbed at Dean's neck, slipping his hand up to stroke through his hair.

"I'm sorry." Dean breathed against Sam's shirt, still attempting to catch his breath. "I won't do it again, I'm sorry."

"Dean, its okay. I just needed to make sure you understood—" Dean was nodding before Sam could even finish. "Yes sir, yes sir."

 _Damn._ Sam brought a hand to his own face, taking in a deep breath. Dean had completely misunderstood the whole purpose of this, and now he was calling Sam _sir_ in the exact same way he said it to Dad.

Sam rubbed at his brother's back until Dean had pulled away, reaching for his jacket and tugging it on, waiting for Sam to put his belt back on before he headed back to the trail, limping stiffly behind his brother.

Sam pretended not to notice Dean's limp the next few days, he tried not to see the way Dean's face contorted every time he sat down.

Sam tried not to notice the way Dean avoided the tables at the motels they stayed in for the next few weeks, and pretended it was normal the way Dean stumbled over himself to follow every request Sam made the next few months.

Sam pretended not to see the way Dean visibly tensed the next time they visited Bobby and their uncle teasingly threatened to 'whip Dean's ass' if he didn't listen to him.

Sam pretended it never happened, because if he thought about it it made him feel like shit. It made him feel like he was no better than their father for doing that to Dean.

And Dean pretended as well. He pretended to forget. He pretended he was just fine.

 **Woahh so that was way heavier than I originally intended. I wasn't sure how I was going to wrap it up when I started and oh my gooood so yea. I was wanting to keep it as like a sweet discipline fic which I like reading when its Sam and Dean but to me I guess that just isn't real.. I disagree with corporal so much I just don't see how it can be done in a 'loving' way. Sammy is way OOC in this for me but I really wanted to do this, so yea. Hope you liked it. I think this one's just gonna stay as a one-shot but I hope you enjoyed! Please review!**


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